Inside Out
by Beaumonics
Summary: Soul and Maka have lived together for a long time. Partners and friends, they've remained distant in the ways of the heart. When news comes that threatens to turn their lives upside down, will they be able to finally let each other in? SoulxMaka. SoMa. Rated M just in case.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction so please, review and let me know what you think. Also, I do plan on finishing this story to completion, as there is nothing more disheartening than finding a fanfic you enjoy, only to see it's been abandoned. Breaks my heart! There may be some slight OOC, and I'm not sure of the story-line after the defeat of the Kishin, so everything in my story may not be perfectly canon. I do apologize if this upsets anyone. I hope you enjoy, and again, please do let me know what you think!**

* * *

Soul aimlessly wandered the lonely halls, hands shoved in his pockets. The sky was painted a sickly orange and the sun sat low on the horizon, heavy with the end of the day. Long shadows stretched greedily across the floor. Death University was quiet, most of the students had gone home hours ago. Only a few hung around, waiting for an evening class or taking advantage of the quiet to cram for a test. A much different place than it had been this morning; people rushing to get to class, waiting in line at the coffee shop, being shushed in the library.

The business often annoyed Soul. Other students were always bumping into him, accidentally or otherwise. Sometimes he'd be sitting in the food court at lunch and some pretty brunette would smile in his direction too obviously for too long. At first, the extra attention didn't bother him so much. It was an adjustment, but a cool one. People paid attention to him. They sat up straight when he came in the room, they waved at him from across campus. A Deathscythe. The youngest ever. Impressive at the least, downright heartthrob worthy at the best. But it'd been over a year since he'd become the next Death weapon, and he just wanted things to be normal again. So it was a certain level of comfortable to walk around his college campus completely uninterrupted, even if the thoughts he was walking with were anything but.

 _Why didn't anyone ever tell me? What will I do? What will she do? I can't do this._

Soul had called, texted and called again but Maka still hadn't responded, so he'd taken to looking for her on foot. She wasn't home, she wasn't in the library. BlackStar hadn't heard from her, and neither had Tsubaki. A thought flashed through Soul's mind and he adjusted course.

 _Spirit._

He stalled at the bottom of a wide staircase before heaving a sigh and trudging slowly to the top. A right past the first water fountain and another right a few steps later brought him to the classroom where Mr. Albarn taught an evening history class. Spirit was leaning on the edge of a table, arms crossed at his chest, staring out at the blushing skyline.

Soul tapped a quick knock on the open door with his knuckles. "Seen Maka?" His voice was thick, almost as if he'd been crying.

Spirit nodded. "Gym."

"Did you tell her?"

"Yeah."

Soul turned to leave then called over his shoulder. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

Quiet.

"You're such an asshole."

"There was never a doubt, Soul."

Looking into the tired sun, Spirit wiped what must have been dust from his eyes.

* * *

The gym was a newer addition to the campus than any of the other buildings. The people of Death City had donated a lot of money after the defeat of the kishin six years ago, and Lord Death let the students choose to build a place where they could practice and exercise. It was large and modern with lots of tinted glass windows. There were practice rooms specifically made for every type of meister and weapon, and some of the rooms on the top floor had holographic training programs. Maka and Soul had spent a lot of time here; when her books held no comfort for her, or he'd had a particularly...popular day. The two had worked out a routine blending close-quarters combat with rhythmic movements that allowed them to train to music against one of the holographic enemy programs. The compatibility of their soul wavelengths made it possible to learn just about any type of move for human or scythe form, given enough time and practice.

As the elevator chimed his arrival to the top floor, Soul recognized the song he'd put together for their routine. A fusion of violin, piano and electronic rhythms filled the halls. Maka had loved their song (as Soul had since come to see it) from the moment she'd walked in on him composing it. Sad, but beautiful and strong was how she'd described it.

 _Perfect._

Soul stretched in the locker room and drank some water from the sink before leaning in the doorway to watch his meister. Her cheeks were flushed with effort and sweat had darkened her shirt. No doubt she'd been here for hours, hiding from the world. Soul mentally slapped himself for skipping this place in his search for her.

She slipped when he missed his cue and landed on one knee, catching her breath.

"Need some help?"

He felt her smile and jogged in, grabbed her hand and tugged her off the floor.

Time always slowed down when they were here together. There was the music and their souls and nothing else mattered. Soul knew where to wait to catch her, when to lean back, and lean forward. Maka knew when to grab for her scythe's handle and when to grab for her partner's hand. No doubt this training method had made them stronger, and there was a huge bonus for how intimate it felt. It was one of the few times she'd let Soul touch her outside of battle. Wavelengths perfectly in sync, they could share their emotions with words no longer in the way.

Maka's movements tonight were urgent, greedy. She pulled at Soul hungrily, unable to get close enough to his reassuring heartbeat. He felt the conflict within her, but she kept it just out of reach, tucked in the back of her mind. It had not been a good day, and here she had the chance to pretend like everything was going to be okay.

One after another, the pair eliminated projected targets until the program had run out of enemies to throw at them. The moon replaced the sun in the sky and the city was quiet. Maka was exhausted. Soul was exhausted. As the fluorescent lights blinked on and the music faded, they stood catching their breath, his forehead resting on hers, not saying a word.

* * *

Maka showered then went silently into her room and closed the door. There was no light coming out from underneath the door but Soul knew she was awake, worrying. He showered in lukewarm water then went to the kitchen in search of a late dinner. There was leftover spaghetti from the night before that he heated in the microwave before dishing up two plates and pouring two glasses of milk. Soul carried a plate and a glass to Maka's door and, after situating the milk in the crook of his arm, gave a light knock.

"Maka, dinner."

"No thanks, I'm not hungry."

"You gotta eat.

No response.

Soul sighed. "Maka, don't shut me out right now, of all fucking times. You need to eat and I need to eat so let's sit and eat together, okay?"

He felt a response from the other side of the door and paused a beat before pressing again. "Don't make me take care of you like a little kid, it's not cool." A smirk lifted one side of his mouth as he heard movement and her door ripped open.

"If anyone takes care of anyone in this house, it's me who takes care of you." Maka punched Soul's arm, sending milk sloshing onto his sleeve.

"Whatever you say." He shrugged as he dropped her meal off next to his on the table then ducked into his room to change his shirt. Maka had finished her milk by the time he sat down and they both tore fervently through their spaghetti in a few quiet minutes.

Soul gave a quick sideways glance to his partner's empty plate. _Not hungry my ass._

After the dishes were done, they settled onto the couch and put in a movie. There was a hero, some explosions and a kissing scene, but it all went unnoticed. Soul was looking around the apartment, appreciating all the things he normally overlooked. All the things that made it home. The sliding glass doors that led to the balcony had little paint spatters on the bottom, the result of some argument he and Maka had had when repainting the living room. There was a fist-sized dent in the refrigerator door from when BlackStar had drunkenly insisted one night he could beat Soul in a wrestling match, and Soul had just as drunkenly taken up the challenge. A pockmark in the linoleum kitchen floor from the last time he had tried to surprise Maka with dinner; he had dropped a steak knife after burning his hand on some boiling water. And finally, but most importantly, this place was his home because of the girl sleeping next to him. Maka Albarn. His meister, partner, and friend for the last decade of his life. She'd been his family when his own had turned away from him. She'd worked hard, harder than anyone else he'd ever known, and in so doing, helped him achieve his life goal of becoming a Death Scythe. Beautiful, intelligent and fierce, Maka found worth in him when he couldn't find it in himself. She was everything, and he had no idea how to do this without her.

* * *

 **Earlier That Day**

Maka sat alone at a square table in the corner of Death City Cafe. She was lost in the pages of a new book, waiting for her father. He had texted her before breakfast, saying something about urgent news, and in the interest of bettering their relationship, she had agreed to meet him for lunch. Spirit was running late, but Maka didn't notice. She'd never know about the sleepless night he'd had, preparing to tell his daughter the one thing he knew could hurt her irrevocably.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Soul and Maka beamed as she typed a reply then turned the page of the novel resting in her fingers.

A shaky hand attached to an equally shaky man set a white ceramic mug clanking onto the table as Spirit took a seat across from his daughter.

"Thanks, Papa."

"You're welcome." There were dark circles under Spirit's eyes and he cleared his throat nervously before taking a sip from his steaming cup of coffee.

An overworked waitress appeared at the table only to be waved off by Spirit who had no intention of eating ever again.

Maka marked her page and set the book down to meet her father's eyes. "So, what's up?"

"Well, I want to thank you for meeting me. I appreciate you making time to meet your old man, despite everything." He gulped down more coffee.

Maka grinned before sipping her tea.

Spirit offered a pained smile then took a deep breath.

"How are you and Soul doing?"

"Good. Really good."

"How does he like being a Deathscythe?"

"He loves it-Papa, where is this going?" The hair on the back of Maka's neck stood up as she became uneasy.

He clasped his hands around his daughter's, startling her with the unfamiliar gesture and began to explain slowly. "Soul has been a Deathscythe for a just about a year now, so he should be all settled into his newfound power level and abilities. That means it's time for him to start training with Lord Death."

Maka swallowed as she looked down at the table. She never realized how big her father's hands were compared to her own. She'd spent so much time being angry with him that it was easy to overlook how powerful he really was. A strong man and a deadly weapon, he'd been reaping at Lord Death's side since before she was born. She suddenly felt very helpless.

Spirit continued. "There is quite a difference between matching wavelengths with a meister and matching with Lord Death himself. It can be...overwhelming. They have to start slow, with no distractions, and build from there. If done improperly, it can lead to painful complications for the weapon."

Maka's eyes widened, she'd never heard any of this before.

"Soul must learn how to connect with a Shinigami, and it takes time."

"Okay." Maka considered her father's words before asking the question he'd been bitterly waiting for. "But I'll still be his meister, right?"

Spirit hesitated for a moment too long, prompting her to pull her hands away and fold them in her lap. "Tell me Soul will still be my weapon." Her voice was low but defiant.

"He will be, but it will be different. After a successful connection with Lord Death, Soul will have to...um…" He struggled to find the words "...remember...how to connect with you."

Maka snapped her head up, her eyes suddenly fierce, hurt. "So...I'm losing him."

"No, Maka, it's not like that."

"What if he can't find me again, what if he changes too much?"

"He will, he will find you again. I did it, every surviving Death Weapon has done it."

"Every _surviving_ Death Weapon?"

"There is a chance that Soul and Lord Death will be...incompatible. It's rare, but it does happen."

"So what if they're incompatible?"

Spirit swallowed. "There is a small mortality rate, among new Death Weapons."

His words hung in the air between them before he added "But I wouldn't worry about that with Soul. He'll do fine."

"No one's ever told me any of this. And it wasn't in any of the books I've studied. Papa, where is this coming from?"

Spirit spoke delicately. "It's not in any books, Maka. Lord Death thinks that it would be distracting to training pairs. If they know their hard work will eventually separate them, they may not be as motivated train so quickly."

"Then, he lied. You lied, every Death Weapon _ever_ has lied." She spit the words at her father who just let them settle on his skin. There was nothing he could say. Even if it was just by omission, he had lied.

"How long will it take?" Maka sighed.

"Well, I don't know how long they'll be gone, it just depends on how quickly he's able to adjust-"

"What do you mean 'how long they'll be gone'? Where are they going?"

"There's a place where Death trains his new weapons, it's a pretty place with lots of trees and-"

"Where is it?" Maka's voice was climbing, her neck was hot and her racing heart threw adrenaline tingling to her fingertips.

"Maka, please-please calm down and let me finish. Death and his new weapon have to be alone. No other meisters or weapons to cloud wavelengths, it has to be this way, it's always been this way."

"You didn't leave." Spirit flinched at her words as he remembered the first time he had failed his ex-wife, Maka's mother.

"I did. I left right after your mom and I got married. She said she supported me, of course, but I missed a lot. We grew apart before we really even had a chance at being a real couple. I was gone for four years. Even though we still loved each other, things were never the same after I got home. The price of such a prestigious position, I suppose." His shoulders heaved.

Maka turned to look out the window as a single tear slipped down her cheek before she could catch it. "Four years."

"I was a quick learner." he bit out.

There was a heavy silence at the table as the world continued to move on around them. A young couple came in the door, causing the welcome bell to cry out for a moment before the door unceremoniously sucked shut.

Maka opened her mouth to speak several times, but her throat was dry and no sound came out. She blinked and turned to her father to try again.

"When do they leave?" Her voice was raspy and quivered under the threat of breaking.

Spirit inhaled sharply through his nose before letting out a long breath. "Next week. Soul is meeting with Lord Death right now. They're having a similar conversation."

"Next week? NEXT WEEK?!" Maka jumped from her chair, bumping the table and knocking over her tea as well as the rest of Spirit's coffee. She bolted for the door and people from all over the shop craned their necks to watch the scene unfolding before them. Spirit left cash on the table, mumbling an apology to the waitress as he chased after his frantic daughter. She was around the corner by the time he caught up to her.

Spirit spun her around and pulled her into him. He stroked her hair as she fought the sob growing in her throat, her sorrow seeping into his soul.

"Maka, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Spirit quieted to right himself as his breath hitched in his throat. This was unfamiliar territory, she'd never allowed him this close before, her soul was open, raw. He didn't know what to do now that she needed him the most; just another way he could let her down.

Maka mumbled something and he leaned back to look into her face.

"Why didn't you tell me? How could you? Papa, you know that I…" Another sob erupted from within her, choking back the words she'd conditioned herself to keep inside.

 _I love him._

"Why didn't you tell me?" She repeated.

After they'd been standing there for what seemed an excruciating eternity, Spirit gathered himself and tried to answer her as honestly as he could.

"I couldn't tell you. You're my daughter, my little girl. I just want you to be happy. All you wanted, since you were four years old, was to become a Senior Meister. To train up your own Death Scythe. I didn't think of it, of telling you. I didn't think it was a big deal until I realized too late how much you cared for Soul. By then, I was too much of a coward to tell you that the one thing you'd spent your life working for was the thing that would take him away from you. I wanted to tell him, I thought he should know. But every time I tried, damn me, Maka, I couldn't do it. I'm so sorry."

Maka shoved away from her father. "You're such an asshole."

Straightening herself out, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd. Spirit stood alone. "I'm sorry."

* * *

BlackStar sucked the last of his drink through an abused bendy-straw, filling the room with loud slurping noises. Soul launched the t.v. remote at his friend, earning a groan when plastic hit cranium.

"Dude, what the hell!" BlackStar rubbed his forehead.

"That was annoying." Soul crossed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes.

"You don't have to be so pissy, for Death's sake. It's not my fault you never told Maka how you feel."

Soul softened at the mention of his meister. "I just...I always thought there'd be more time. It never seemed right, ya know? But now…"

BlackStar was rummaging through the refrigerator and came out with two fists full of food. He kicked the door closed and set about making lunch. "So tell her now."

"How can I tell her now? 'Oh hey Maka, I love you, but I've gotta go to the other side of the damn world now and I may never come back, so see ya later!' Yeah, great idea, BlackStar."

BlackStar emerged from the kitchen carrying a double decker sandwich and a bag of chips. "It's not like she doesn't already know. Even the blind can see the way you two look at each other." He tore off a bite of sandwich.

Soul opened his eyes with a sigh but said nothing.

After an uneasy silence, BlackStar tried again. There was an uncustomary amount of concern in his voice that floundered when he spoke. "Look, Soul, I don't want you to leave either, but it's not like you'll never come back, right? Just kiss her and get it over with. The two of you have been dancing around it for so long, it's like you don't even know how to be straightforward with each other." He shoved a handful of chips in his mouth, sending a spray of crumbs cascading down the front of his shirt. "I could give you some pointers if that's what you're waiting for. I'm kind of a big star when it comes to the ladies."

An involuntary chuckle escaped Soul's throat as he looked over at his friend. The brother that Wes had never been, BlackStar had always been there for him. Since they were kids, they'd had each other's backs and Soul had gotten into more than his share of trouble due to Star's charismatic peculiarities. And now, faced with leaving him behind, Soul just wanted to sink into the couch and play video games with his best friend for hours on end. So that's what they did.


	2. Chapter 2

It was raining when Soul woke from his nap. BlackStar had left a few hours ago and Maka still wasn't home so the apartment was quiet. Soul checked his phone hoping for something from his partner, but there was nothing. He went to the bathroom and splashed cool water on his face then paused in front of the mirror.

"Maka I-" He blushed then started again. "Maka, I need to tell you something." Soul shifted the weight on his feet and rubbed his neck. "Maka, can we talk?"

 _Whatever, it's useless._

Dissatisfied, he gave up and went back to the living room. Gray light filtered in through the windows, adding to his already dampened mood.

"Where are you, Maka?" he wondered aloud as he moved to the glass doors facing the street. Soul stepped onto the balcony, shielded from the rain by the canopy overhang and looked out over the city. The air was cold and the rain was colder, courtesy of the season. He looked down and saw a crumpled figure on the sidewalk, a girl holding her head in her hands.

"Maka!"

Soul flew out the door and down the stairs, shouldering through the double glass doors of their apartment building and onto the street. Maka was hunched on the wet concrete, shuddering.

"Maka, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded, shaking her shoulders.

Her eyes were glazed over, focused on something far away. Soul scooped her up and she reflexively clutched his shirt, shivering uncontrollably. She was coughing and sputtering out incoherent thoughts. Every so often, Soul could make out his name but the rest was too muffled to understand. Her wavelength was all over the place and her skin was frigid.

"Shit, you're freezing."

Soul slammed their door shut with a heel kick and carried his convulsing meister into the bathroom. He flicked on the shower as he kicked off his shoes then stepped with her into the warm water, clothes and all. As the downpour from the faucet slicked his hair to his face, Soul shifted to settle Maka between his legs.

After a few minutes, her tremors calmed then finally stopped altogether. Soul whispered her name as he lazily traced his thumb over her warming knuckles. His shoulders relaxed and he rested his head against the tile wall as he felt her responding, her soul reaching out for his.

"I'm here, Maka."

Maka came to life as the steam tickled her nose and her spasming muscles relaxed into their natural positions. She was very aware of Soul's hand on her own and felt an unfamiliar kind of warmth in her cheeks before aligning herself to look into his face.

His body stiffened and his wavelength turned hyperactive as Soul felt her awareness. He hadn't really thought this plan through to conclusion. They were sitting together in the shower. Correction, he was _holding_ her in the shower. He was also _holding_ her hand. Soul prepared himself for the Maka Chop of his lifetime; he could feel her eyes on him. But it didn't come. He slid one eye open and saw her looking up at him. She was smiling.

"Soul...what are we doing?" Her eyes were red and puffy, and except for the small grin lifting her cheeks, she looked completely spent. Soul's heart wrenched when he wondered how long she'd been crying alone. He found himself leaning in ever so slightly as the urge to kiss her blindsided him. Here, in this moment, it was all he could think about, all he wanted. He imagined her eyelids fluttering closed, felt her eyelashes tickle his nose. He trailed her face with his eyes, lingering on every spot his lips wanted to follow.

 _Stop it._

"Well it's not like I'm just gonna let you freeze to death in the rain." he offered a little more gruffly than he intended to.

She nodded and shifted backwards, compensating for the distance he'd taken from her. "I'm gonna go put on some dry clothes."

 _Please don't._

"Yeah."

Maka lifted herself out of her partner's lap and wrapped a towel around her soaked frame. Soul listened to her plod across the hardwood floor and into her room as regret wracked his brain.

 _You should have kissed her. Coward._

He answered himself with a grunted "shut up" then turned off the shower and made the dripping walk to his own room.

* * *

The pizza they'd ordered for dinner was done and gone and Soul was slouched deep in the couch. His thumbs danced on the game controller as he slayed virtual zombies. Maka was silently reading, flipping a page with her index finger every now and again. The customary empty space between them was painfully present as Soul went over in his mind all the times Maka had been so careful to keep them from touching. They had sat on the couch like this a thousand times, Soul sprawled on the left and Maka with her feet tucked up underneath her, leaning on the right armrest. She was a professional at personal space. He hated it; all the times he'd felt her get unusually close, hoping for an accidental finger brush or shoulder bump, only to have her stop just short and correct course. Yeah sure, every now and then she'd give his arm a punch or (much more frequently) assault his head with a closed book. But if they weren't training or fighting she kept her distance. Always. Even now, with him leaving so soon, she was making no move to get any closer.

Soul became angry at the last thought. He gritted his teeth and squeezed the controller tight enough to illicit a pitiful groan from the plastic. His wavelength became very tight, shallow, and his partner's wavelength noticed.

Maka looked up from her reading and set the book down with a sigh. She set to collecting the empty pizza boxes and soda cans.

Soul glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "What're you doin'?"

"Picking up. Someone's gotta do it. Death knows it's not gonna be you." Maka tried to keep the tone in her voice light hearted, but failed miserably.

"Maka, where were you all day?"

 _Shit._

He hadn't really meant to ask, but the words tumbled out and clanked on the floor before his mind could reign them in.

Maka rinsed her hands in the sink then pushed her hair out of her face. "It doesn't matter."

Soul sat up. "It does."

"No, it doesn't. Nothing came of it anyway." Soul was too focused on getting an answer to notice the exhaustion in her voice.

"Yes it does!" Soul stood and moved toward her. "I'm leaving in three days, Maka! _Three days._ I may never come back, I may never see you again. You've been avoiding me since we found out and I don't know whatever the hell tonight was all about, so yeah, I think it does fucking matter where you were all day!"

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Maka's eyes were lined with tears threatening to fall. She pursed her lips and swiveled her head to the floor, unable to look at her weapon.

"I know you're leaving, Soul. I know you're leaving and I know that you could die out there." She met his eyes with her own, unflinching. "I know that when you finally come home, you'll be different. I know that I'm losing you forever, and I can't change that."

"Maka-" She recoiled as he reached out for her. An ache took hold in Soul's chest as he stood unable, or unwilling, to close the distance between them.

"I spent all day in the Academy library. I read every book they had on Death Weapons, trying to find some loophole, or amendment or exception to the rule. There was nothing. So I went to Lord Death himself, and I asked him not to take you. He said you were too strong of a weapon to lose, and a Death Weapon that he can't use is pointless. Then he assured me you'd come home again someday. My father said the same thing. But they don't understand that the you I have right now won't come back. I won't know you, not the way I do now. You're leaving, just like everyone does, and there is _nothing_ I can do about it. I'm just...helpless."

Maka straightened the hem of her shirt and took a steadying breath. She said more than she'd meant to. She hated showing weakness, especially to her partner. But she was tired, too tired to monitor herself as closely as she usually did.

It wasn't like he didn't know already. Soul wasn't stupid; besides that, they had a powerful soul resonance. There were plenty of times when he'd come to her side in the middle of the night to wake her screaming from nightmares. Some of those times, she'd been too sleepy or too frightened to separate her feelings for him back into their little box. Of course he felt it, and she felt his soul push in return, but he never said anything. He didn't need to. It was in the way he'd tease her about studying so much or the way he'd smile at her with a mouth full of scrambled eggs; it was in the way he'd move his body with hers in the gym, and always let her shower first. Everything Soul did came from the love he held for her and she despised herself for being too much of a coward to claim it.

The terrible irony was that she'd always done that to keep herself from getting hurt. Romance was nothing but a distraction, and she'd learned the hard way that relationships rarely lasted. Maka hadn't meant to ever love Soul the way she did now. She thought that by keeping it secret and separate, it would never have the power to hurt her. She was wrong. All of the self-control, all of the distance, all of the denial did nothing to keep her heart from breaking now. He was her best friend as much as he was her weapon, and she'd spent the last ten years of her life as a half of their whole.

"I'm sorry." Soul ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat.

"I just...I'm...scared." He gave a weak chuckle. "That's not very cool to say, is it?"

"I know. I can feel it. That's why…" Maka weekly trailed off and gestured to the window with her hand.

Soul didn't know if it was the pain in her face or his own weariness but before he could stop himself he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. Maka leaned into his chest and he felt her relax into the embrace. Her head rested on his shoulder and he could feel her breath on his neck. Electricity shot down his spine and back up again, out to his fingers, toes.

She was so warm. It was unreal. Maka looped her arms around his waist and Soul cursed himself for waiting so long just to hold her, _really_ hold her. He traced his fingers up and down her back as they swayed in place.

There were so many things he wanted to say. Words fought for space in his head while he tried to think of a coherent thought, anything he could put together in some sort of sentence. But he couldn't risk losing this moment. So he said nothing.

Instead, he reached out with his soul. At first, it seemed like Maka couldn't feel him, her wavelength was slow and loose, with rolling peaks and valleys. Her breathing was deep and steady, almost as if she was sleeping.

So he pushed a little more. Not fully, and not with everything he had to give, just enough to show her how much he needed this closeness. How much he needed her.

Her wavelength stayed the same and that's when Soul realized she was doing it purposely. Maka was totally open to him.

The need to be even closer to her overpowered him and he tucked his fingers under the hem of her shirt before continuing to trace his fingertips across her skin.

Soul's breath caught in his throat when Maka trembled at his touch. He hesitated, frightened that he'd crossed a line too far. A small sigh escaped her parted lips as she returned the gesture, lifting his shirt with her own curious hands, flattening her palms on his lower back.

His fingertips trailed fire across her skin and Maka melted into Soul like she'd never done, completely letting herself go.

She smiled as he freely wandered around the recesses of her soul. He took his time, relishing every corner, every crevice of the person he loved. Some of the places he knew well: her strength and her tenacity. Some of them he'd only seen a few times, like her sorrow and her regret. Soul stopped short when he came to an area that he'd never been. He'd seen it before, but only from afar. It was normally dark and Maka went to great lengths to keep it that way. But right now, there was light, and Soul could see the box that she'd kept hidden for so long. He swallowed thickly before moving towards it.

Soul felt Maka's resistance stir deep within her before she shifted her weight back onto her heels, creating some distance between them. The cold air assaulted his skin where her hands had just been and he stilled his own to desperately pull her closer again. But this time she resisted. He allowed his hands to fall to his side and just like that, it was all gone.

"I'm sorry, Soul. I just-I can't." Maka turned away from him and went for her room.

Soul followed after her. "Maka, wait, I need to tell you something. I-"

She spun around to cut him off.

"Don't. Please don't ruin everything right before you walk out of my life. I'm losing my partner, my weapon and my best friend. I can't lose a lover I never had. I can't."

Soul stepped back and waited for her words to dissolve between them. Pain thumped in his chest. He could never tell her how he felt. He'd waited too long and now she didn't want it. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"Alright, but don't go shutting yourself away. Let's just be...us. Okay?"

Maka nodded. "Okay."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow, thank you so much for the response! I'm very glad that people are enjoying this story. Please let me know what you think, feedback is always much appreciated. Thanks and do enjoy!**

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The next two days passed by like a hundred days before. Soul oversleeping. Maka scaring him out of bed. Going to classes. Lunch. Training. More classes. Homework. Dinner. Maka's cell buzzing with a call from her father; Maka ignoring it.

If it wasn't about to change, Soul would have thought life was good.

On his last day of class, all of the friends crammed into their apartment. They stayed up late talking and laughing and eating. Tsubaki cried a little. Crona spent the night muttering about "not being able to deal with this." Patti took a group picture for Soul to take with him. Everyone looked really...happy.

When everyone had said their goodbyes and gone home, Maka and Soul were left to clean up. Soul took out the trash then ducked into his room and reemerged a few minutes later holding a small square between his thumb and index finger.

"I have something for you."

"Dishes first."

He smiled as he set to drying the dishes while Maka kept her hands busy in the soapy water.

They worked in silence until the last plate was clean and put away. Maka went to start on the next day's lunch and Soul caught her faltering before pulling out enough fixings for only one meal. He leaned with his back on the counter, waiting patiently for her to finish.

He watched her hands at work and remembered all the different ways they'd felt in the years he'd known her: strong and sure in battle, fragile when she'd been having nightmares, gentle and warm on his skin a few days ago. He wondered if he'd ever feel that again.

After a few minutes, his desire overcame his discretion and he reached out to rest his hand on hers. It was soft from the dish soap and Soul ached for her closeness, her warmth.

Maka stiffened. "Soul-"

"Maka, I know what you want to say and I don't care. I don't care that you're right and that it's gonna hurt more if we cross whatever invisible line we've drawn in the damn sand. I just want to be...close..."

She exhaled and rotated her hand to lock her fingers with his. He stepped closer.

Maka spoke softly, her voice was tight. "I'm scared, Soul. Everyone's expecting me to be fine. They're always going on about how strong I am and how I can make it through anything. But they don't know how afraid I am. I'm not strong, not like they think I am. With everything we've been through, I know I'll be okay, no matter how bad it gets because I have you. But now…" she paused to take a steadying breath. "...now I won't."

Soul's heart swelled and broke at the same time. "Maka, as cool as I am, you don't need me. It's the other way around, I'm nothing without you. And you're wrong, you are strong, you're the strongest person I've ever known. Besides, if you're worried about you, what the hell do you think I'm gonna do? I can't even get out of bed on time."

Maka laughed and he basked in the sound of her. Before he allowed himself to think better of it, Soul brought her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. His breath was hot and sticky on her skin and Maka wrestled against the pleasing sensation.

Soul froze after his mind caught up with his body, but he kept her hand at his lips. _What the hell am I doing?_

A familiar panic sprouted in her chest and Maka quickly regained the control she so desperately wanted to abandon. She had to get out this. She had to return to the safety of the distance that had always been between them.

"You said you had something for me?"

"Mm-hm." The vibration of his voice tickled her fingers, but she didn't give in. Soul responded to her anxiety and lifted his head with an inward sigh. He paused a beat then dropped her hand to retrieve the square he'd left by the sink. He resumed his position of leaning on the counter and gave her a sideways look as he held out the item to her on an open palm.

Maka took it with her fingertips, careful to avoid touching Soul's hand. It was a USB drive. She looked at him with a question.

"There's songs on it. I thought you'd get tired of listening to the same one all the time, so I made you a few new ones. They're not great, but...It's like...I don't know...I'm in those songs somehow, so maybe you won't feel so...lonely...or something." He awkwardly cleared his throat. "And, please don't play the last one without headphones. It's just me on the piano so I'd rather, ya know, no one else hear it."

Maka blinked. "Thank you. I love it."

"Well, you haven't heard them yet."

She smiled. "I already know they're beautiful."

"Yeah." They stood together, captured in silence until Soul clapped his hands and shoved off the counter. "I better go finish packing."

* * *

Soul couldn't sleep. This was new for him. Sleep was something he'd never had trouble with, didn't matter the time of day or the place. If he had to place it on his long list of favorite things, it'd be right behind harvesting Kishin-egg souls and eating. But tonight, he found himself blinking at the ceiling and sighing with every stupid minute that ticked by. It was his last night at home, and he couldn't think of a bigger waste of time than sleeping.

He rolled to face the window, putting his back to the glow of the clock. It had stopped raining but the moon was still hidden behind smudged clouds, so it was just as dark outside as it was inside. He squeezed his eyes shut, determined to relax, but ultimately pushed himself up with another dissatisfied huff.

Soul booted up his laptop, plugged in his headphones, and set about composing another song idea. He was lost in the music for quite some time before he felt a pull, a tug at his wavelength. It was small but persistent. He instinctively swiveled his head toward his meister's room across the hall and smiled to himself. Maka was dreaming. It wasn't bad, at least not yet. The urge to respond to her, to cross the hall between them and go to her, to hold her close-

 _Stop._

She had no idea that she reached for him in her sleep, at least he didn't think she did. Soul had never told her, he didn't want to embarrass her. That seemed so silly now.

Soul rested his face in his hands then wiped his palms from forehead to chin in an effort to erase the idea itching the dumber side of his brain. He went for the door and hesitated after it creaked opened, before turning right and heading for the kitchen. He stepped lightly and fumbled as quietly as possible through the dark. Maka didn't sleep well very often, and he learned a while ago via a flawlessly executed Maka chop that when she did, quiet was very important.

Soul filled a glass with water from the sink and gulped it down. He was reaching to refill the glass when her wavelength suddenly changed. She was afraid. A scream tore through the silence as Soul spun on his heel and dropped the glass shattering to the floor. Maka was more than afraid, she was in pain.

He exploded through the door to her room as she continued to call for him, her voice cracking with the effort.

"Maka!" Soul flipped on the light. "Maka, wake up!"

She didn't wake up, not that he expected her to. Maka always called them nightmares, bad dreams, but they were more akin to something like night terrors. People could do all sorts of things during night terrors; walk down stairs, have conversations, beat the shit out of those around them. Maka was no exception. Her night terrors were difficult to wake from, and felt just as real as anything.

After filling the room with light, he'd talk to her, just like he did now. "Maka, it's okay. You're home, you're safe. Wake up. Maka, it's Soul, you're okay, you're home and I'm here with you."

She was punching and flailing, at war for her life somewhere far away. He leaned over her and stretched his left arm across her shoulders, holding her down to the bed. He continued to speak softly, reassuring her she was not alone. Soul rested his right palm on her forehead and pushed with his own wavelength, mirroring the comfort of his spoken words. He winced when she shoved back, like he was the enemy she'd been fighting.

After several minutes, she stilled and groggily blinked her eyes open. This was the worst part; the part when she'd stare right through him, to nowhere. When she woke, even though he was close enough to feel her breath on his nose, she'd stare glassy-eyed into the infinite space between them. Like he wasn't there. It killed him. And he worried now, just like he worried every time, that she wouldn't recover; that she was finally, irreparably lost and would look through him like that for the rest of his life.

But slowly, her eyes cleared and her pupils dilated as she fixed on his face.

Soul leaned back and straightened up, allowing her the space she was so accustomed to; the space she always expected of him.

"Thank you." Her voice rasped, hoarse.

He crammed his hands into his hoodie pocket with a relieved grin. "I'll be in the kitchen."

Soul returned to the glass massacre and swept it up while his heart came down from the adrenaline rush. After he was satisfied with the job, he set about heating water for Maka's tea. She always drank tea after a nightmare, and Soul always sat with her until she was ready to go back to bed. Of course, she didn't go back to sleep, not really. But he never told her that he knew that either. Looking back, there was a whole hell of a lot he never told Maka.

 _Idiot._

He yawned and scratched his head while the mug traveled circles in the microwave. He felt Maka behind him and he turned to silently greet her. She didn't smile, or meet his eyes. She just looked exhausted, the kind that comes from deep down inside a person.

The microwave chirped and Soul walked the steaming mug to his meister, who was leaning on the balcony railing. He took a place leaning on his own stretch of railing beside her. The air was cool and a gentle breeze played with her loose hair. Soul went to run his fingers through a particularly wayward strand before he stopped himself short, swearing under his breath. All those years of careful self-control, only to fall apart at the last minute. It was too late to get bold, to take chances. Anything he could do, everything he _wanted_ to do would only cause both of them more pain. Maka had said so herself: _"I can't lose a lover I never had."_

 _Neither can I. I can't lose you at all, Maka._

"It's so quiet tonight." Maka mused aloud, pulling Soul from his thoughts.

Soul took a deep breath of the fresh night. "It's late."

"No, it's a different quiet. Even the stars seem to be sleeping." She looked to the sky then added thoughtfully, "Maybe they are." She sipped her tea.

"Maka, what are the dreams about? The bad ones?" Soul spared a glance out of the corner of his eye and saw when her head snapped to face him. He returned his focus to the horizon in an effort to look distracted, relaxed.

"You've never asked me that." She didn't sound angry.

He shrugged. "I'm asking now."

She didn't say anything. The noiseless breeze danced across their skin as Soul waited for an answer. He felt for her wavelength, she was nervous.

"You don't have to tell me, Maka. Forget I asked."

"It's okay. You lose just as much sleep as I do because of them, you deserve to know." She paused another moment to look down at her hands. "It's a lot of different things, I guess. Sometimes it's about Mama or Papa. I'll just be running and running, but I can't find them. Sometimes I dream about the black blood. Other times, it's the kishin; that we failed and he's still here, hurting everyone. Sometimes I'm in pain, or fighting a losing battle. But most often…" She looked up into Soul's waiting eyes. "...they're about you. That you're hurt or in trouble and I can't help you, or that you've-"

 _Left me._

She went back to looking at her hands.

"Was that what you dreamed about tonight?" The tightness in his throat nearly crushed the words on their way out.

Maka slumped under the weight of the memory. She was looking far away again, into that infinite abyss. "Tonight, I knew if I didn't get to you in time, you'd die. But I was too afraid, I couldn't-I didn't know what to do. You didn't-you died at my feet. There was so much...blood."

"I'm sorry." Soul's voice was soft, sad.

"It was my fault." The shame was bitter in her mouth. "Even in my dreams I can't…I'm still helpless. I'm not strong enough." Anger replaced the fear in her eyes.

"But I'm right here. It was just a dream, Maka, it doesn't mean anything." He reached out again to touch her, to show her how close he was, but Maka had already recomposed herself and turned to go back inside. Soul's hand found nothing but air.

"It's okay. I'm okay." Back to her controlled self. But Soul had the unique capability of knowing her underneath that control, underneath all of the carefully constructed walls she'd built for the world to see. He could feel her soul, the very essence of who she was, and right now he felt how broken she was. He felt her sorrow and her guilt, over something that hadn't even happened. He felt her self-disgust at the very idea that she would ever let him down. He wanted to rip his heart out of his chest and give it to her so she could see how much joy she brought him, so she could feel the boundless faith he had in her; so she would never be disappointed in herself ever again.

But it was too late for that. She didn't want his heart. She wanted things to stay the same as they'd always been, comfortable and safe.

So they sat together but separate on the couch, Soul on the left side and Maka tucked into the right. He played video games. She read. And for the last time, they were comfortable, safe.

* * *

After the laughing sun had reclaimed the sky, and the clouds had dissolved from the heat; after sharing a satisfyingly greasy plate of bacon for breakfast; after reliving every shared memory they had to recollect; after Soul's last wonderful, sleepless night in Death City, it was time for him to leave.

The pair sat facing each other from opposite positions across the kitchen table. Maka glanced over her shoulder to the clock on the microwave. "You're late."

Soul smirked. "Yeah. Surprise."

She rose from her seat and set to clearing the table. "He's probably out there waiting for you. I can make you a lunch to take if you want."

"I'll be fine." Soul stood and went to his room to get his things. He wasn't allowed to bring much, so he only had a backpack and a black duffel, filled mostly with clothes, his toothbrush.

Maka met him in the hallway and he held out his hand. "Here, take this. I can't bring it with anyway. No contact with the outside world in my new hermit-man existence and whatever."

She took his cellphone with a sad smile. "I'll keep it safe for you."

A desperate panic overtook Soul and his chest tightened; his breath burned shallow and his knees suddenly felt very weak, incapable of holding the weight of what he was about to do. "Maka, what are we doing?" His voice was thick and gravelly, like she'd never heard it before.

"We're saying goodbye." She whispered.

And that was it. Every crack in his heart shattered apart and he stopped breathing and he stopped thinking and he pulled her into him and he just took her in. "I can't do that. Goddammit I can't say goodbye!"

They stood holding each other as if their need was enough to stop time itself. When a knock at the door smeared the illusion, Maka was the first to step back and Soul respected her boundaries once again.

She looked at her partner, torn in two by his mourning eyes. "Then we won't."

Soul wiped a tear from her cheek and turned, stepping into the hallway where Kid waited to see him off. He didn't look back when he heard the door latch behind him, he didn't look back when he reached the bottom of the stairs, and he closed his eyes against his own tears as he walked through the double glass doors and out onto the street.

He didn't realize how much his lungs hurt until he took his first breath...without her.

* * *

 **A/N: Fear not, there is more to come! This story is not over! Stay tuned ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I apologize for the delay in the chapter upload, I was waiting to upload this chapter until I had the next one ready, but I'm going into finals next week, so my writing time is very limited as of late. This chapter is shorter than the others, but I wanted to keep the next events in a separate chapter, as a great deal of time occurs between this scene and the following.**

 **I should have ample writing time during winter break, I appreciate you all sticking with the story through the wait!**

 **Also, just a reminder that not everything in this story will be canon, but I hope you enjoy regardless!  
**

* * *

Maka leaned against the door long after she knew he was gone. Not gone to school, not gone until tomorrow, really _gone_. She'd spent the last hour watching his soul as it faded with the distance before finally disappearing altogether. Maka slid to the floor and hugged her knees when a hole where he should have been tore within her, knocking the breath from her lungs. She retched as the foreign emptiness overcame her, a blackness born from the sudden and terrible lack of him. Desperate, she reached out with her soul, searching, calling for him. Her wavelength was frenzied with a horrible grief and the unspeakable need for him that she'd been so afraid of.

But he wasn't there.

"Soul. Come back." The words stuck to her tongue like wet paper.

Maka tried again, stretching, reaching as far as she could. She grit her teeth against the fear swelling in her gut when there was no response. Just empty air in every direction.

 _Soul._

The pit within her twisted and grew again as a different but familiar feeling choked out the sadness.

Maka was angry. That simmering, under-the-skin anger she'd lived with for so long found opportunity in her vulnerability, and it moved to submerge her, to drown her once and for all.

Wasn't this what she had been so afraid of? Wasn't this the exact pain she'd sworn she would never feel?

Soul was gone. He left her. All the times he'd promised her that he was _different_ , that he'd never hurt her….

 _Liar._

Her eyes clouded with the seething hurt, but unlike the new sorrow, Maka knew what to do with the anger. She'd been angry for most of her life, at her father, her mother, herself. She knew that she wasn't angry at Soul, it wasn't his fault. She was angry at his absence.

She squeezed her eyes shut and she allowed the rage it's freedom, to build until her skin was hot and her head was swimming, intoxicated with it. Then, she swallowed it down, as far down as it could possible go, where the light could never reach it, into the very bottom of her soul; and there, Maka left it. Just as she always had.

She opened her eyes as the pain once again clamped around her heart, fiercer now, without the distraction of anger. God, it even hurt to breathe.

Then, there was a whisper; an echo of him that curled through the air like a soft mist. Startled, Maka reached to her pocket and pulled out the drive that contained the songs he'd made for her. " _It's like...I don't know...I'm in those songs somehow."_

Maka paused at his bedroom door before pushing it open and stepping inside. She sat cross-legged on his bed and looked around at all of the things she had forgotten to appreciate in all the years they'd been together. She saw the leaning stack of papers on his desk; sheets of scribbled song ideas he hadn't gotten around to finishing. Maybe he never would.

Her heart lurched as she thought about the lazy cool-guy image he'd spent his life cultivating. He was always the coolest guy around, so he'd taken to letting certain parts of himself go unnoticed by the world, the parts of him that cared very much about not-so-very-cool things. Like the bottle of protective polish he kept for his leather coat, and that he did, in fact, have a morning alarm set on the clock that sat on his bedside table. He studied more for tests than he'd ever admit, and he was usually tired in the morning because he was keeping his insomniatic partner company, and not because he was playing video games all night like he'd passively let BlackStar assume.

But he'd never been fake, he was just...Soul Eater. He was laid back and confident and got along with just about everyone he'd ever said hello to; something Maka had always been a little silently jealous of. He was always so relaxed, things just seemed so effortless for him. It was easy to forget that he was a living weapon and had dedicated his life to consuming corrupted souls. It was easy to forget that he was dangerous.

Maka lingered on the pleasant knowledge that she knew things about him that no one else did. She knew that he didn't own a single bottle of cologne, but if you were close enough he smelled clean, like soap. She knew how he'd run his tongue along his teeth when he was concentrating, and how she always marveled at the way he never cut himself on their sharp points. She knew about the photo of everyone he kept in the drawer of his nightstand; a class picture from years ago, right after they'd met Crona.

Another sob shuddered through her, yanking her back to the bitter present.

Maka powered on Soul's laptop, plugged in the drive he'd given her and slipped on his headphones. The music filled her ears, swirled in her head as the echo of his soul coiled around her, filling the room with the memory of the presence she so dearly loved.

And there in his room, surrounded by his smell and his thoughts and his music, Maka let go. She allowed her heart to tremble and let her body to be wracked by the loneliness and she wept for him, alone.

* * *

She cried for a long time. Probably more than she had ever cried before. But it had been hours, and Maka had no more tears left to give to her broken heart. She closed the laptop, tucked it under her arm and looked around Soul's room one more time. She took a deep breath, walked out the room and without turning back, shut the door.

Maka's legs faltered for a moment before she steadied herself against the wall.

 _It's okay._

She went to the couch and set the laptop in Soul's empty place.

Warm light from the low sun filtered in through the glass doors, painting the room a rich gold.

It was so quiet.

"I'm okay."

Maka pushed her hair out of her face and slid her backpack out from under the coffee table. Her homework wasn't going to do itself.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello, and welcome! If you are a returning reader, I would like to thank you so very much for your patience, and for your return to this story! If you are a new reader, thank you for giving this fic a chance, and for making it to this chapter!**

 **I must apologize for the terrible delay. In addition to the difficulties of constantly trying to balance student/home/work life, I (unfortunately) wound up scrapping most of what I had worked on for this piece, as I didn't like where the story was going. I have spent several months reworking a direction that I am happy with, and I hope it will be worth the wait!**

 **I realize that this a shorter chapter, but I will have more to upload shortly, I am just in the final stages of fine tuning it.**

 **Happy reading! -BMX**

* * *

The air was different.

That's what he noticed first.

It was dry. Still. Only occasionally disturbed by the thud of slamming doors and the slapping of shoes on concrete; sounds that would swirl loosely through the atmosphere then dissolve as if they'd never been. This air didn't hold onto things. It wasn't thick with moisture, it didn't stick to his skin or roll slow and heavy down his throat. He'd never realized how different air could be.

He never realized how important that difference was to him.

Soul inhaled deeply through his nose and held the breath until his lungs ached for another.

It felt good.

He breathed again.

 _Damn good._

After three years of breathing the humid, foreign air of his training grounds he was finally breathing the tepid late-winter air of Nevada.

He was finally home.

* * *

There was no welcome home party, not that he'd expected one. Soul hadn't even known he was coming home until a few days ago. Here he was walking around in broad daylight, no more than a few minutes drive from the only family he claimed, and they had no idea. Anticipation tumbled around in his stomach, twisting and untwisting at the thought of being reunited with everyone. Black Star. Tsubaki. Kid.

 _Maka._

The technicalities and red tape of business made Soul's first stop the Death room. Kid was there wrapping up the final odds and ends of his time as head of Death City while preparing to be relieved of the position by his returned father. His mouth twitched into something of a smile to greet Soul as warmly as his nature allowed.

He was something like six foot now and still just as wiry as ever. He wore a black combed wool suit with a white dress shirt. Probably silk. Every piece was precisely tailored to fit Kid's slender frame, right down to his angular shoulders. The whole thing oozed expensive; nothing but the best for a man who never expected any less. He looked every bit the god of death he was, at last grown into his serious disposition.

Kid took meticulous notes while they spoke until there was no detail left untouched. Finally, after a painstaking debriefing, Soul was relieved to be given some much needed time off.

"Going home now?"

"Yeah." Soul beamed.

"I should have much more free time now that my father has returned. I look forward to catching up with you on more than just a professional level."

"Anytime." Soul smiled and turned to go but stopped short when Kid spoke again.

"Soul, everyone will be glad you are home. Keep that in mind."

"Sure, Kid." Soul loosely nodded and left his friend to sigh alone.

* * *

Soul was standing at a door. Old, oak, heavy.

Home.

For an undefined moment, it was all he could do just to look at it. How he'd longed to see this door again, but now that he was finally here, it didn't seem real.

He risked a touch and reached out to flatten a palm against the wood.

Real.

Soul rested his forehead on the smooth grain; his breath clouded in front of him as he allowed shaky fingers to curl around the brushed brass doorknob. With a twist of his wrist, the latch pulled loose and the door shuddered open.

He stepped quietly into the hallway.

A warm, sweet smell settled on his skin. The sounds of a busy kitchen surrounded him and filled his ears, mixing with the syrupy scent to signify that something delicious was taking place. Baking. Not bread.

Cake, maybe.

He kicked off his shoes and smiled when his socked feet slipped smoothly against the hardwood floor. With both arms outstretched, he trailed his fingers along the walls until the hallway gave way to the large open living space that was living room on the left and kitchen on the right.

And there, in the kitchen, she was. His tongue turned to cotton and suddenly felt much too large for comfort. His galloping heartbeat kicked into overdrive while everything else slowed down, like the world and everything in it were moving in slow-motion. No— slower. Stop motion. A single movement for every frame, hundreds of thousands of frames glued together to create a single story when played at super speed.

First frame: He sees her; she's facing away, leaning down in front of the open oven.

Next frame: Soul moves his right foot forward; she straightens, she's holding a cake pan in both hands.

New frame: Soul's left foot steps forward. She hooks her own under the oven door.

Next: Right foot's turn again. She flicks her foot and the oven door closes with the momentum, swinging up through frame five.

Frame six: Soul is still. She turns around to place the cake on the table.

Seven: She sees him. The cake falls too far and the glass baking pan cracks in half.

End scene.

* * *

There was no exultant musical score. She didn't run into his arms, crying out about how she feared she'd never him again. He didn't breathlessly tell her how he'd died every day without her and how much he loved her and "how could I ever leave you, I was such a damn fool." He didn't sweep her off her feet and kiss the tears away.

There were no tears. No hysterics. No confessions of undying love.

There was only silence. Heavy and thick enough to fill all the space between them, ceiling to floor. How long had they been standing there? Seconds? Minutes?

"I'm home." Two quiet words. Everything.

Maka's lips pulled into a smile and her voice lilted sweetly on the tail of a giggle. "Welcome back."

He was across the room in an instant, pulling her into him. A hundred frames. Super speed. Somehow still not fast enough.

He buried his face in her hair, shiny, hanging long and loose around her shoulders. His calloused palms caught on the soft material of her t-shirt as he trailed his starving hands down her arms, across her back, around her neck and shoulders, reforming the memory of the feel of her. She was lithe and lean; soft hair, softer skin.

Every cell in his body was hyper aware of her touch; the tiny points of pressure on his back from her fingertips, the rise and fall of her chest against his, their syncopated breathing. The way each strand of her hair brushed against his lips, driving him crazy in the best way. It was all too much. She felt so incredible that it almost hurt, like when something is so hot it feels cold. If she was burning him, if she was fire and this was the end, he'd gladly die with her holding him, just like this.

"Maka." Her name floated instinctively from the back of his throat, a reverent whisper.

In this infinite moment it seemed impossible that he could ever live without her. He had no idea how he'd done it for so long.

But he knew for damn sure he couldn't do it again.

He wouldn't.

"Soul, you're crushing me."

"Shit. Sorry." He stepped back and rested his hands on her shoulders.

"It's good to see you." Her words were lucent and sincere.

Her smile was gentle and genuine.

But her eyes were different.

And her soul wasn't right.

* * *

"I still can't believe you're back."

Maka plucked a fry from the mound she and Soul were sharing and paused to drag it through a puddle of ketchup before crunching it down.

"Me neither." He took a long drink from a plastic water glass to wash down his own mouthful.

They were sitting across from one another in a corner booth at Death City Cafe. After cleaning up the cake catastrophe Soul had offered to buy them lunch, and they'd been working on that lunch for the past hour.

Maka had been excitedly chatting away, catching him up on all of the comings and going of their friends. Kid had made strides in dealing calmly with his OCD. Black Star and Tsubaki were in a successful relationship, which apparently everyone had seen coming. Crona had been going to therapy and developed a burgeoning love of all things punk rock. Liz went through a string of bad boyfriends before deciding to focus on herself and Patti was enjoying a part-time job working at a daycare. Everyone was doing really well. Everyone, it seemed, but Maka.

Something was wrong.

He'd been trying to connect with Maka's soul. But he couldn't. In fact, he couldn't even find it. Whenever he'd reach out to resonate, he found...walls. Impossibly high and expertly built stone walls that stretched forever in every direction. Everything within Maka—her thoughts, her feelings, her soul— the parts of her he'd once reveled in, were all hidden. It was as if she'd been flattened out, become a two-dimensional person that he didn't know any more than a stranger he'd pass on the street.

And her eyes— they were all wrong. They weren't brilliant or glittering like he remembered. They were dull, inexpressive, detached from the rest of her dancing face. Like they weren't a part of her at all. He could hear her talking, he could see her sitting there, all smile and gesturing hands and flushed cheeks. But she wasn't _there_. There was no bond, not a whisper of her soul for him to touch with his own.

Like he'd never been a part of her at all.

"Soul?" Her voice cut through the fog of his distraction.

"Hmm?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry." He readjusted in his seat and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. "What were you saying?"

"I was telling you about that new movie everybody wants to see this weekend. You wanna go, right?"

"Let's go right now."

"Now?"

"Yeah, right now. You and me."

Maka glanced down at her sandwich. "But we're eating."

An uneasiness sprouted in Soul's stomach. "We can go tonight then."

Maka's phone buzzed and she tapped away on the screen for a few moments before awkwardly excusing herself from the table. "Hey, I'm gonna get going."

"Come on, you can't be that tired of me yet." He forced a chuckle in an effort to lighten the suddenly dampened mood.

"Don't be ridiculous. I've actually got plans tonight." She spoke softly as she dumped her leftovers into a styrofoam to-go container.

"Oh." Soul's stomach was somersaulting. He reached out for her soul again.

Walls.

As if on providential cue, the welcome bell cried out and the glass door swung violently open.

"WHERE THE HELL IS HE!"

Soul jumped up and swiveled towards the familiar voice. "Hey, over here!"

"Where the hell do you get off! You're home for Death knows how long and I have to find out through a text from Maka!"

Black Star charged toward his friend and shoved hard on his chest before they met in a back-slapping man hug.

"It's good to see you, Black Star."

"Of course it is, you missed me for _years_."

Soul chortled. "Yeah. Right."

They moved to the booth where Maka was standing.

"Ok, well I'll see you at home Soul." She stepped away before he had a chance to protest.

He slumped and shrugged in an effort to look like his careless self. "Yeah, okay. See ya."

His insides were screaming.

"Man, I'm starving. Let's eat." Black Star slammed down on the seat and helped himself to the leftover fries. "So, how good is it to be back?"


	6. Chapter 6

It was after ten o'clock and Maka still wasn't home. Soul had spent the time since lunch getting settled in, but even that he'd managed to wrap up several hours ago. The rest of his day had been punctuated by snacking, napping, and intermittent welcome-home visits from his friends. But now that he had nothing to do but wait for her, the time was choking by.

It was surreal, being back. It almost seemed like it'd all been nothing more than the bundled memories from another life. And if it wasn't for the frayed threads of his soul, it almost could have felt like he'd never left. The two dissonant feelings bubbled through his blood and mixed thickly within him, filling his head with a heavy fog. He didn't mind it so much, the fogginess. It was better than the years he'd just spent with the crystal clear knowledge that he was far from home.

Soul reclined on his bed with his arms folded behind his head, eyes catching on every crook and crevice of his room. There was a dull gathering of woolly dust layered over everything, but it was all the same; the smattering of shoes kicked into the bottom of the closet, the papers scattered all over his desk. All the same.

Like he'd left it all just this morning for another normal day.

Surreal.

The front doorknob sang out a tinny note as a key shimmied into it's grooved lock from the outside. The door's worn hinges groaned with the open swing, and wailed in a different way with the closing swing. Soul eagerly rolled up and pushed himself off the bed to step into the hall.

Maka was gorgeous. A black dress hugged her shoulders and kissed the tops of her knees, serving as little more than a velvet second skin. Dangling earrings danced around her face, playing with the light at every subtle movement of her head. A single red rose nestled in a bed of white baby's breath adorned her left wrist. Her cheeks were flushed that rosy color that often accompanies champagne, and the corners of her mouth were turned up in the sort of smile that lingers after a good laugh. The sight of her did heart-pounding things to Soul above and below the waist. It was almost too much for him to handle without blowing a fuse in the more primitive circuits of his man brain.

 _Too fucking much._

"Wow. You look—wow." He gestured in the air with a sweep of his hand along her beautiful frame.

Maka smiled. "Thanks." Soul could smell the fruity sweetness on her breath from where he was standing.

 _Champagne._

She bent down and slipped off her high-heels with the expert swiftness that women always seem to have with those kinds of things. "I thought you might be asleep. You've gotta be tired."

"Nah, I slept after lunch. My times are all screwed up, jet lag or whatever. I probably wouldn't be able to sleep right now if I wanted to." He sauntered to the kitchen as casually as he could feign, given the somersaulting of his stomach and everything beneath it.

"So where you been?" Soul chugged root beer straight from the bottle as he waited for an answer he was increasingly suspicious he wouldn't like.

"Birthday party." Maka called her answer from behind the cracked door of her bedroom.

"Pretty dressed up for a birthday party." Root beer. Intestinal acrobatics.

The remarks were innocent enough, not unlike any number of conversations they'd had a thousand times. Except that Soul didn't really know where they stood at the moment. There was no way for him to know, with Maka hiding her soul away the way she was. He wanted things to fall back into place, he wanted the relationship they'd always had, and had hoped it would be even more now, considering the nature of their discussions before he left. But it certainly didn't feel like that was happening. Her abrupt behavior at lunch didn't help. And as much as he relished a dressed to kill Maka, the occasions that called for such sexy formality could be found on a very short, very intimate list.

"It was a dressed up kind of party, I guess." She emerged in sweatpants and an oversized UPenn t-shirt. "You makin' tea?"

"Sure." Soul set about the task as his mind wandered around the question of how the hell she managed to peel herself out of the dress. He would have liked to help. Fuse blown. Damn it all.

Soul took a moment to appreciate her in the new laid-back duds, and decided he almost liked it as much as the dress. There was something uniquely endearing about seeing her in the sort of messy-comfortable that people reserve for home. And he was really the only one who ever saw her that way. He liked that.

He settled into the couch next to his meister and carefully offered her a steaming mug. Maka bent down to take a sip and squeaked through closed lips before swallowing fast. "Hot."

He'd always made it too hot. Good to see some things didn't change.

Soul glanced over and chuckled. "Sorry." He gratefully took in the sight of her again, roaming every inch with the kind of care that hungry eyes and a starving soul demand. He tentatively pressed once again with his wavelength, but to no avail. The starving soul part would have to wait. He watched her bounce forward to retrieve the t.v. remote from the coffee table, and something about what she was wearing clicked a gear slowly over in his brain. He didn't recognize her shirt. This wouldn't have been particularly important, except for the fact that he'd spent a decade memorizing every piece of clothing she owned. Not purposely, it was just a sort of side effect from all the time he'd spent looking at her. Of course, it wasn't unreasonable to assume she'd purchased new clothes in the time he was gone. But this was a UPenn shirt. University of Pennsylvania. Which is in Philadelphia. Not Death City. Why would she go all the way to Philadelphia for a t-shirt from a school she'd never been? And the shirt was big, beyond too big for her. The kind of too big that _his_ shirts had been for her when she'd commandeered them from the clean laundry pile.

This wasn't his shirt.

"University of Pennsylvania, huh? That's Ivy League. What, did you get another degree while I was gone?" An attempt at a joke, but the uneasiness from lunch returned to contort his insides, a corkscrew of jealous anxiety.

Maka's head snapped down to look at the shirt in question and she shifted uncomfortably as realization dawned on her. She only picked the shirt that she'd left on the bed this morning, the same one she'd worn last night when the spent the night at—

"Oh, no it was given to me." The weak bend in her voice did her no favors.

"Ah. A friend, or…?" Soul tried to keep his trailing tone even and mildly interested. Maka's face told him he'd failed at that. He wasn't going to like the answer to this question, and she knew that. She knew he knew that.

Soul uneasily cleared his throat and tried to shift the subject. "So, who was the party for?"

Another look he didn't like. Another answer he didn't want to want.

"Matthew."

"Matthew." The foreign name was bitter on his tongue for reasons he didn't want to acknowledge. His mind searched frantically for something else to focus on, but—

"Is that Matthew's shirt?" The words flung themselves anxiously free and smacked Maka square in the face.

Soul had never really been a fan of science. He'd made it through years of required biology, physics, and chemistry classes by cramming and forgetting. It worked out well enough for him at the time, but it also meant he had no real scientific knowledge to show for it. He remembered in his second semester of college an exceptionally convoluted section on the human eye and the process of vision. Something about input, and then the brain interprets the input, and something or other involving pathways happens, separation of foreground and background, some more needlessly long scientific words, and then you're seeing. He did remember hearing that the brain's interpretation of visual input was insanely fast. But right now his brain was the exception. Maka nodded, he knew that. His eyes took in the motion of her nod. But what did it mean. Yet again, the rotary dial of his brain clicked into place and his thoughts smashed into one another as everything came to a screeching halt. His fists clenched instinctively against the spite-fueled urge to rip the shirt off of her and burn it on the kitchen floor.

"Who's Matthew?" The words balanced on the sharp knife of his strangled voice; his throat desperately straining against a blooming mushroom cloud of envious anger.

And there it was, the look on her face, the shutter doubling down over her eyes, the way her lips arced open, stuck to words she wouldn't say. The answer he didn't want. He knew who Matthew was. He knew _what_ Matthew was.

 _Fucker._

* * *

"You have a boyfriend?! Maka 'I-Hate-Men' Albarn has a fucking boyfriend?!" Soul stood rigid and fuming as Maka dumped her tea in the kitchen sink. Wouldn't be able to enjoy it now anyway.

"Yeah, people do that sometimes."

"Not you. You're not 'people.'" The last word spiked like an insult.

"Yes, Soul, I am 'people.' What does it matter to you, anyway?"

"What does it— tell me I don't really have to spell this out for you? You can't think of _any_ reason that I'd be pissed about this."

"Why are you making such a big deal about it?! You've had girlfriends, so what? I met a really nice guy, and we started dating. It happens. Plus, it wasn't like you were here to care." Here temper burned and bloomed to meet his own. They'd always been excellent at fighting.

"Do you really think I give a shit about how you met, or how great a fucking guy he is? Why would I want to know about that?" Adrenaline galloped through him, he needed to do something. He wanted to break something. Standing here just wasn't cutting it.

"Because we're friends!" Her words echoed through the kitchen and pierced him in ways he thought they couldn't anymore. He thought he'd heard that enough to finally believe it, to know that's all they were. But he didn't believe it. He didn't think he ever would.

"At least…" her voice softened and folded in a way that hurt him in ten new kinds of ways. "...we used to be."

"We were more than that, Maka. Whether you want to admit it or not."

"Well whatever you think we were, we're not now. You have your life and I have mine, and I'm happy with my choices."

"You are?" A challenge.

"Yes, I am!"

"Is that why you built the Great Wall of Maka, because you're happy? Or are we just gonna add that to the list of shit we don't talk about?"

"Soul, I'm fine. Just drop it."

"Then it's on the list."

"Soul!"

"Don't worry, Maka, I'm done. I'll respect the damn list. But if I ever see _Matthew_ , so help me God, I will smash his face in."

He tore down the halls and nearly ripped the front door off it's hinges on the way out.

Maka stood stiffly rooted in her spot. "You're such an asshole!"

She thought he was gone, down the stairs by now, no doubt storming into the street. She didn't think he'd hear her. But Soul's legs had switched off as soon as the door slammed behind him, and now he could do little more than lean on the wall outside their apartment.

He heard her just fine.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for coming back! I would appreciate your thoughts, feelings, feedback of any kind! It's always encouraging when people take the time to leave their feedback, I know time is precious.**

 **Yet again, I apologize for the wait and thank you for your patience. I work painstakingly on these chapters, which is why they take so long. The edit-re-edit cycle is a nightmare.**

 **I hope you enjoyed it, and as always, stay tuned!**

 **Much Love,**

 **-BMX**


	7. Chapter 7

The streets were empty as Soul walked hunched and alone to Death City Cafe. It was a weeknight and people were settled in their homes, getting ready for another early morning; windows lit with the muted glow of television screens, families sitting together on coffee-stained couches, lovers holding each other tucked between cool cotton sheets— all of the quiet things that mark the end of the day. All of the things Soul had missed for years. And yet here he was, not even twelve hours into his first day home, and he'd already managed a fight complete with angry storm-out. Soul scrubbed his hands over his face hoping to clear his muddled mind, but only succeeded in itching his nose.

The vinyl seat squeaked in protest as Soul slid into the corner booth of the Cafe and ordered two double-decker club sandwiches. He tapped out a text on his phone, and by the time the waitress brought their late-night dinner to the table, Black Star was sitting opposite his dispirited friend.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Hmm?" Black Star grunted through chewing cheeks.

"About her boyfriend."

"Ah. She told you?"

Soul nodded stiffly.

Black Star spoke around the chunk of sourdough in his mouth. "Did you fight?"

Soul heaved a long sigh. "A little."

"I mean, come on man, you can't really expect _that's_ gonna be the first thing I bring up after I haven't seen you in _three years_." He shrugged and tore off another bite of sandwich.

"You could have warned me."

"Soul, you're my best friend and I'm happy as hell that you're home. But the you-and-Maka situation isn't really my area of expertise. How could I tell you that your girl's with someone else?"

A bitter rush of air escaped from Soul's chest and burned through his throat. "She's not my girl. Never was, I guess."

Black Star licked some stray mayo from his fingers and shifted forward to rest his forearms on the table. "Listen, it really sucked when you left. It was hard on everyone. I'm not trying to make you feel bad, and no one blamed you because it was your job, but it was still rough. We'd all always been together. And Maka— I mean, of course it was the worst for her. She was in a bad way. She tried, you know, but we were all worried about her. She just wasn't the same. It was like that for a long time."

A thick guilt seeped from Soul's sick heart through his veins, down to his stomach, his legs, up through his shoulders, and finished with a sting in his stiff fingertips.

"Then she met Matthew and slowly she was okay again. He seemed good for her. No one really thought it would ever get too serious. But they're still together."

Soul cleared his throat. "For how long?"

"About six or seven months now. He's an alright guy."

"Great." Soul gulped down the rest of his water and stood with a heavy breath. "So what now." More a surrender than a question.

"Are you gonna eat that?" Black Star gestured to the remaining half of Soul's sandwich.

"Nah, go for it."

"Look, you were gone for a long time. It's gonna take some time to get used to having you back. Especially for Maka. Just give it time, she'll come around. When it comes down to it, you matter more to her than anyone. You gotta know that."

 _Yeah. Right._

* * *

The next few months were long and bland. Maka was gone all the time. She worked too hard and rested too little, and when she did finally find time for sleep she spent most nights at Matthew's house. Which left Soul to fill his time on his own. He slept alone, woke alone, ate alone, and watched Netflix alone. He'd already gone through the entire series of some medieval drama with lots of blood and boobs, and was now trying a comedy series about everyday office workers. Soul had hoped it would lighten his mood, a fruitless effort. He was mud; damp and dark and shapeless. Existing. Alone. He was home, surrounded by the familiar smells and sounds that used to bring him comfort, but now they were nothing more than a vanilla candle burning in the kitchen, a bath towel warm from the dryer, a whirring dish washer set to heavy-clean. They were just things, facts without meaning. Like him. Alive, but without meaning. Alone. After a while, it was easier to be out of the house than it was to hope Maka would come home to spend time with him. She never did.

February hemorrhaged into March, then April, and by the time Memorial Day rolled around, May had been warm and dry for weeks. There was no sign of the April rains that had brought the Yuccas and Prickly pears to bloom; only the sun in a cloudless sky, baking the days one after another.

Maka was standing alone at the sliding glass doors of their quiet apartment. Soul had come home late—or early, depending on how one looks at two hours past midnight— and then left again early. He couldn't have had more a couple hours' sleep. Maka didn't understand how he could do it. And he'd never liked mornings. At least, not before. But a lot of things were different now. They were rarely in a room at the same time, which was more often than not Maka's doing. She kept herself busy and out of the house, just as she had done when Soul was gone and she couldn't bear to be home without him. She'd been doing that for so long, it was like she couldn't remember how to just be in the moment, still and quiet in the morning in the one place she'd ever called home. And even when she did manage to make time to be home, it was Soul who was gone. Long nights and early mornings seemed to be his thing now. Maka didn't know where he went. She thought about it more than she meant to.

Dust particles floated lazily through the air, suspended in the rays of light that filtered through the blinds. She pressed her hand to the sun-warmed glass and focused on the feel of it against her fingertips. It was barely past breakfast time but the sun had been up for hours now. The cool in the air that lingered from the night before had dissipated, replaced by the growing heat of the day. It was still and quiet in the way that allowed for too much thinking. Too much feeling. Too much doubt. Soul had been home for months now, but things weren't right. Maka wasn't happy. She was lonely. And so was he. She didn't need soul resonance to know that.

Too much time for thinking. Too much regret.

It was her fault they were so distant, her fault she was unhappy, her fault Soul was unhappy. She'd been so cold. So aloof.

Maka was afraid.

 _Of what?_

Too much thinking.

 _Of hurting again._

But wasn't she hurting now?

 _It's not like that. This is different._

Right?

Too much doubt.

Maka went to the kitchen and dumped a half-empty coffee pot in the sink. She had managed her way through one mug, but it had soured in her stomach and she decided against a refill. She rinsed the glass pot before carefully measuring out enough grounds for another full brew. She then flipped a filter into the brew basket, poured fresh water into the reservoir and tapped the self-start switch for 7:00 a.m. Maybe it would taste better tomorrow.

Matthew had to cancel lunch plans with Maka due to some last minute work meeting, thus providing an opportunity for the day. It'd been several days since Maka and Soul had actually spoken to each other, and she was looking to correct that.

She was tired of being lonely for him, tired of being cowardly. Maka tapped her phone screen awake and typed out a text for Soul. A single word, five letters, and a question mark: _Lunch?_

Her thumb hovered stiff over the screen. Send. _Send. Send it send it just send it._ Maka's heart fluttered in a, crooked way, sending warm, tingling blood through her stiff body. They hadn't been alone together since the day he'd come home. Not for any significant amount of time anyway. There was always someone else around, Black Star or Tsubaki or Kid, someone else to keep conversation light. To get in the way of things she didn't want to talk about, to sit between her and Soul so he couldn't spend all his time looking at her, trying to see into her. How it unnerved her. How she longed for him to peel her away, to reach her raw soul wrapped in the layers of denial and distance she'd contrived through the years. To touch her in the way that only he could. But his eventual disappointment and how he'd look away in frustration every time only served to remind her that she had forgotten how to let him in, that she'd forgotten how to open herself to the world. To anyone.

It's just lunch.

Maka hit send. The phone chirped once for success and once again a minute later for Soul's reply: _Sure._

* * *

Soul was seated at a window-side table for four, waiting a little less than patiently for his Maka to arrive. _Maka. Just Maka._

He idly wiped away the condensation gathered on the sides of his water glass. The air in the restaurant was cool and filled with the sounds of a busy lunch service. The tinny ring of silverware clinking against ceramic plates, straws sucking at iced tea, laughter from a far corner table with balloons tied to the chairs. It was a nice place with dark carpet floors and matching stained cherry wood everywhere. A little fancy for what was likely supposed to be a casual lunch, maybe, but they had good pasta and the best salad bar in town. Maka had always liked coming here for special occasions, and Soul more than considered today to be such an occasion. They'd rarely spoken beyond household necessity since he'd been home, and even more rarely at Maka's initiation. She'd done everything humanly possible to avoid him, working her efforts into a well-oiled routine of work-gym-Matthew-sleep-work-rinse and repeat. Soul certainly didn't expect an invitation to lunch, much less an invitation to a lunch that was just the two of them. Not that this was necessarily anything like a date, they'd done everything together once upon a time. Movies and dinners and flowers and picnics under the stars. They'd danced at parties, fast and slow, and everything in-between. They even lived together for damned death sake. Soul and Maka. Always together. They'd been that way for so many years, for as long as Soul considered life to hold any sort of meaning for him. And for a long time it was enough. She was his partner and his best friend and the only person out of the seven-something billion crawling around the globe whose soul fit with his own. She was more than anyone else had ever been for him, more than anyone else ever would be.

And somewhere along the way, everything about their relationship had melted into something new and strange for him. The way he looked at her grew desirous out of innocence, and his heart started to thump sideways when she laughed. His mouth would run dry when he'd catch sight of her pink and damp from the shower, wrapped in nothing but an over-sized towel. His hands started aching when hers weren't around to fill the spaces between his fingers with her own. He wanted her close and bared to him, skin to skin every morning. He wanted to be everything for her. He knew that everything had changed, that he'd changed. But Soul didn't care. He liked being in love. With her.

But around the same time, Maka changed too. She started sitting farther away on the couch. She stopped hugging him as often and held his hand even less, until she eventually stopped altogether. They were the same in every other way except for the physical distance she wanted. They'd do movies or dinner or picnics under the stars, but they never touched. Not anymore. Maka still wore his shirts, but she stopped taking them from his room, opting instead to take them straight from the dryer. They still ate and sang and laughed together, but Maka always made sure to leave plenty of empty air between them. Soul had always been comfortable in varying stages of dress around Maka, and she'd never seemed to mind. But around the time he started wondering how it would feel for her to kiss the place where his neck dipped into his chest, she started to blush and dart away when Soul would emerge bleary-eyed and blinking from his room in nothing but low-slung pajama pants. At first he enjoyed the way it affected her, until he realized she never smiled with the blush, instead she would get flustered and uncomfortable. He started covering up more. Things changed, in small, opposite ways for each of them. Soul couldn't keep from licking his lips whenever he caught sight of how she chewed on her own when she was concentrating or nervous. He wanted more than anything to taste them, supple and small and soft in the sort of way that twisted his insides into tight, quivering coils. But Maka couldn't stand to think like that; she'd shudder away whenever his lust leaked through their connection from his soul to her own. His intentions were honest and clear, but, despite whatever kind of longing, warm desire he would feel slipping from her unguarded soul late in the night, so were Maka's. She didn't want romance. She didn't want that red kind of love. She wanted the life they'd always had, and he wanted her, in whatever way she'd have him. So he reigned it in as tightly as he could, and Maka built a box where she packed away the one piece of her he cherished more than anything under the sun. Then she tucked that box away in a quiet corner of herself where no one ever went. Not even Soul. And that's how they were. Close and comfortable and full of love for one another. But never romantic. Never _in_ love.

It'd been harder since he'd been back. Living without her, losing Maka for so long had done things to him that Soul couldn't undo. His soul bled and bent and bruised when she was pulled from within him; the whole they made together torn in two. The years that followed he spent violently, overwhelmingly undone. Incomplete. It was dark in him where she'd been the light. Cold where she'd been the sun. And his need for her consumed him, colored everything he did. He overworked himself, pushed too hard, he needed to come home. Ultimately, his time away was successful. As a weapon, he was as strong as he'd ever been, able to successfully resonate with Lord Death whenever called upon. But what did all the power and training and soul-eating matter when he'd lost his own meister. And as a man, he was different. He was weak kneed and tired and desperate. For her. He'd come to know what life was without Maka; it was grim and joyless and far more empty than he ever imagined possible. Soul had planned to try again when they were reunited, to show her how completely he needed her. How hopelessly he loved her. He had expected some hesitance, but he had always been hopeful that eventually they'd be able to test the waters together. And even if she still wasn't interested in the rings and the skin-to-skin and the kisses, at least they'd be together again; entwined as one soul, fully whole and alive. And he would worship her like no one had ever worshipped another. He would gladly fall at her feet every day for the rest of his life.

Soul hadn't expect Matthew. He hadn't expected that Maka would want nothing to do with him at all. That her soul would be on lockdown, and there'd be nothing more waiting for him at home than a roommate. A woman who barely spared time to look his way. He didn't expect she'd fill her life with someone else, someone who could never know her the way he did. He didn't expect to ever hate someone just off of jealous principle. But, here they were. Here he was.

So yeah, maybe he jumped the gun this morning when Maka texted him out of the blue. Last-minute reservations at _Al Dante's_ was no doubt overkill. She'd only texted him a word, a non-complicated question between friends. Not a proposal, not a confession of love, not even a promise they'd be what they had been. But it was time alone with her. Time that she had asked him for. And he'd be damned if he let it slip through his fingers. Soul was going to make the most of it. Maka was all he needed, all he wanted from life. He craved so badly to be that for her, but he'd take anything she was willing to give. He'd take friends at lunch. Even if the low-volume soundtrack floating from the speakers tucked into the ceiling was decidedly romantic. Even if he was noticeably underdressed for a place that offered champagne in crystal glasses before the sun had even made its way past the middle of the sky.

On second thought, maybe his faded jeans and Nirvana t-shirt were a good thing. It'd be very easy to come on too strong in such an intimate environment. Perhaps he already was. The last thing Soul wanted to do was scare Maka away again. Maybe he had been a little too intense the first few weeks after he came home. Like it or not, Maka had a boyfriend. And of all the things he disliked about himself, Soul had to believe he wasn't a total shitbag. Taken is taken. And as long as Maka was happy, it could be enough for him. It had to be. It was all that was left. Her happiness. And his quiet love. And maybe every now and then, something would sift through the cracks of his self-control.

Like champagne with lunch.

Hope is a hard thing to kill.

* * *

Maka walked briskly through the doors two minutes to noon.

"Sorry I'm late. Good choice." She smiled breathlessly as she sat and scooted her chair closer to the table.

Soul chuckled. Only Maka would apologize for being on time. On time was late, early was on time, and late— forget it.

He'd never know all the time she spent picking her outfit for their lunch date. _Not date. Not a date._ Maka tried every combination of shorts, blouses, and skirts she had in her closet before settling on a sundress colored like lemonade. The shoulder straps were small, and the skirt was short, and all told it was a little more revealing than she would normally wear in the middle of the day. A lot of skin. But she counted on the heat to excuse what she hoped wasn't an obviously generous display of skin. In case of emergencies, she could always say she wanted to get a little summer color in her porcelain skin. She wanted to look good for Soul, wanted him to _notice_ her looking good. She shouldn't. But she did.

"No biggie. I haven't been here very long." He'd been nearly half an hour early, but the lie came easily enough. Keep it comfortable, don't freak her out.

But the dress. The goddamn dress. It hugged tight over the soft shape of her breasts and tucked neatly around her waist, opening into a loose flutter around her legs. It did all the things a dress should when found on the body of a beautiful woman. Her skin was flushed and warmed from the sun and— _everywhere_.

Casual. Lunch. Friends. _Friendsfriendsfriendsfriends_.

But damn it all if he didn't want to taste her. To kiss her shoulders. To trace the curve of her neck with his tongue, warm and wet and slick on her skin. To take some of the soft flesh above her collarbone between his teeth and suckle until she was marked as his. Only his.

Soul was stiff in his chair and his breath came shallow. There was a flash in his eyes, a quick heat that sent shivers along Maka's spine. She swelled. _He noticed_. His lips opened in a loose part and Maka could see his tongue dancing along the notched line of his teeth. She'd always liked seeing his tongue work that way. On occasion, she'd wondered how that tongue would taste, how it would feel on her skin. It wouldn't be so hard to try in this dress. There was more than plenty of that available for him to choose from. A warm tingle sprouted deep within her; small and far from the surface, but warm in a way she'd forgotten. Warm in a way she'd never felt for Matthew. Or anyone else for that matter. _Stop it._

Maka shifted in her chair and shook her mutinous thoughts away. "Hungry?"

 _Jesus God_. "Course." Soul tilted his head back and took a long gulp of ice water to cool his tongue. And mind. And everything else.

Maka watched a wayward drop roll down his neck.

When he'd finally finished draining the glass, Soul wiped his mouth with his hand and then flicked away the drop that had landed on his shirt. He searched Maka's face; she was smiling, cheeks raised and lips pulled wide. It was beautiful. But it still didn't reach her eyes. They were dark and the skin around them was smooth, a separate part from the rest of her. A quick reminder of the state of things. The moment he'd been lost in wilted. Her dress, the sun, the special restaurant, the soft songs above them; none of it mattered. Maka was here, with him. Just not _here_. Not really. But it had to be enough— whatever she gave.

Soul offered a quick smile and flipped open his menu. "What do you feel like?"

The warm flicker in Maka turned to smoke that dissipated in a single breath. Some small piece of her—a piece buried deep within and behind all the walls— was...disappointed?

Maka leaned forward and spread her hands on the tablecloth. "Everything. I'm starving."

"We should get some champagne."

She blinked at him. "It's lunchtime."

Soul gave a shrug. "Eh. Live a little." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively with a coy smirk.

Maka snorted and giggled into her menu.

Etta James came on the overhead, crooning about her love at long last.

Soul cursed under his breath. _For fuck's sake. Who runs the damn music_.

"Okay. Let's do it. But I wanna say some things first, so you know that they're coming from me and not the champagne."

A jolt of adrenaline shot through Soul's body and pounded in his ears. This wouldn't be good. How could it? He'd come home three years behind the rest of the world. Maka had a boyfriend and her work and a life that moved on without him. He'd been trying to fit in somewhere— _anywhere—_ for months, only to find there wasn't really a place left for him.

Maka leaned in and Soul mirrored her movement instinctively. She spoke slowly, thoughtfully, with purpose."I know that I haven't really been around since you came home. I guess I've kind of been avoiding everything, even you, and I know that's not...right. I hated being home alone a lot, when you were gone. I think it sort of just became a habit to be busy all the time."

Maka paused and sat upright. She exhaled a steadying breath. "But that's no excuse. I know it was hard for you too, to be away for so long. I'm sorry for being so distant and making things, you know, just— weird. You're my best friend, Soul. I miss you."

Soul's heart tripped over her words, fast, full and beating hard. The wires in his mind sparked and a smile lifted his cheeks before he could think better of hiding his ecstatic relief. It wasn't bad. It was the best thing he could have hoped for. No— better. She missed him. There was something left beneath all the brick and stone. Someone left behind the eyes that didn't see him. There was a little _Maka_ left in the woman across from him. There was somewhere for him. No matter how small, he still belonged.

Smiling like an idiot, he scrubbed the back of his neck. Words bubbled and swirled within him. There was so much to say. But what could he say? What was safe? He settled on the truth. A condensed, one-dimensional, grossly understated version of it— but the truth nonetheless. "I miss you too."

Maka gave a satisfied nodded and relaxed in her chair. "So, champagne?"

" Yeah." Soul agreed with a smile.

* * *

The champagne was sweet and the lunch was long and filling. Salad, fettuccine, cheesecake. They took their time, laughing and whispering and watching birds through the window. It was almost as they had always been. A clever and intimate imitation. From the outside, all was right with the world. But her laughter, splendid and breathy and full, was only a sound around him. Not the vibration within his soul it had once been. Although he saw her smile, her happiness with the moment, he could not feel it. He could not share and magnify it with his wavelength, as he had for so many years before. Her soul, her being, was as separate from his own as the waiter who filled their glasses. It was strange, being with her in every way but the one that mattered most; the one that set them apart. Not just the connection of a weapon and a meister, but the connection of two souls in harmony. Two souls as one. The constant communication of shared thoughts and feelings and spirit. But here they were together, in the same place at the same time, souls each their own, just as ordinary people are. _And it has to be enough_.

Maka pushed a delinquent lock of hair from her face and stood with a sigh. "Well, I should get going. Matthew's coming to pick me up in a few minutes."

"Okay." Soul leaned to the side and pulled his wallet from a back pocket. "Lunch is on me."

"No, Soul, we'll split it." Her words were big and loose from two hours of sipping champagne.

"Don't worry about it. It's my treat." Soul stood and leaned around her to hand the waiter his card. God, she smelled good enough to make him dizzy.

"Souuul. I can pay for myself."

He shrugged. "Too late. It's done."

Maka put a balled fist on her hip and huffed through her nose. "Fine. But I owe you."

"Deal." He held out his hand.

Maka placed her hand in his and shook on the deal. His palm was rough with callouses that caught on her skin. She'd forgotten how they felt, his long pianist fingers that wrapped around her own and reached to her wrist. She'd forgotten the way her hand tucked into his, safe and surrounded by his sure grip. She'd forgotten about the nights when, tired and worn from long days of training, they'd fold together into the couch and he'd rest his hands on her knees, absent-mindedly stroking delicate circles with his thumb. She'd forgotten that despite his strength and size he'd always been gentle with her; his touch always washed in adoration. She'd forgotten how it felt to miss being held by him when he stopped. Because she had wanted him to. _Why did I ever ask him to stop?_ It had to be the champagne, but Maka wanted to be closer— just for a moment. She stepped into him and pressed her cheek to Soul's chest. He was solid and warm. Maka stood with him, arms wrapped in a loose hug around his waist. She breathed him in; her nose crinkled with an unfamiliar smell. It was oaky, musky, and a little and spiced. It smelled like—

"Cologne?" Maka backed out of the hug and gave him a quizzical look.

Soul gave another token shrug. "People change. Try to keep up half-pint."

She smiled, all teeth and tongue and full cheeks. No eyes. Never the eyes.

She inhaled again. It wasn't overpowering; more the suggestion of a scent than a strong aroma. "I like it."

Red bloomed in Soul's cheeks. "Thanks." He didn't know if she'd notice. He wanted her to. Shouldn't— but did.

They stepped out of the doors together and into the afternoon sun. Some guy waved from the parking lot and Soul bristled.

"That's Matthew, he's taking me downtown. I can introduce you—"

"Nah. I'm gonna get going."

Maka made a noise like she was thinking. "Well...okay. See you at home?"

"Yeah, see you later. Have fun." Soul waved her off with as sincere a smile he could muster.

Maka turned with a skip and bounced into the passenger seat of a black late-model sedan. She wasn't leaving with Soul. She wasn't going to spend the rest of the day with him, walking lazily hand in hand along smooth downtown sidewalk. She was doing that with someone else. Someone who drove an expensive car. Someone who wasn't around when Maka's parents split, who hadn't held her brokenhearted and vulnerable and sobbing on the bathroom floor. Someone who would never know her the way Soul did, who could never blend with her soul the way he had.

But she was trying. He could try too.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for stopping by! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Stay tuned. ;)**

 **-BMX**


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